


Special Delivery

by Tabithian



Series: Bats in the Belfry [3]
Category: Batgirl (Comic), Batman (Comics), Birds of Prey (Comic), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Think of it as training, Tim."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Delivery

"Think of it as training, Tim."

Tim looks at Barbara. Tim looks at the cardboard cup with "Bruce" written in black Sharpie surrounded by a cloud of hearts. (The handwriting is definitely Steph's, but the hearts looks to be an even mix of Steph, Cass, and Dick, which. Dick isn't even _there_.) Tim looks back at Barbara.

"Oh," Barbara says, waving a hand at the cup. "He drew hearts on a case of the cups." Shrugs, because the way Dick's mind works - or just as often _doesn't_ \- is a mystery. Barbara smiles, the one Tim's discovered means trouble for the recipient. (Sadly, a good deal of the time it's Tim.) "Why waste them?"

And this. Things exactly like this are why Tim's life is a horrible place to be. "If I end up in a room with no windows while someone named Ivan interrogates me, I blame you." Possibly unfair of Tim, it's not like the person interrogating him has to be Russian, have a Russian name, or even be a man, it's just. Things like this have him falling back on terrible movie clichés in defense.

Barbara sighs. "Tim, I can personally guarantee you no one named Ivan is going to interrogate you." The corner of her mouth twitches. "Now, _Irene_. She's completely different matter altogether. I hear she likes brass knuckles."

Times like this, Tim wonders how different his life would have been if Barbara hadn't caught him. Hadn't flat-out told him that he was going to be her sidekick and he should just shut up and enjoy the hell out of it if he knew what was good for him. 

"You are are a terrible person," Tim says. It's something that needs to be said as often as possible, something that bears repeating. "You are a terrible person and I'm going to die."

Barbara tips her head to the side. "Possibly," she says, proving just what a terrible person she is. “Now get going, the last thing we want is for Bruce's coffee to get cold."

...Yeah. That's the _last_ thing they want. Forget Irene and the love she feels for her brass knuckles, that's not important.

"Don't forget the danish!" Barbara yells after him.

Tim holds the paper bag with the danish as the bells over the door jingle merrily, complete unconcerned that he's headed out to face his death.

********

"Fancy meeting you here."

Gah. "Dick. What are you doing here?"

Here being the entry point into the WE building Tim had finally settled on. Here being Tim flattened against a the wall at the bottom of a service stairwell holding Bruce's "order" in front of him like a particularly tasty shield.

"Well," Dick says, trying to take the bag with the danish from him. Tim slaps at his hand, and tucks the bag away in one of his coat pockets. "Cass said you were worried about Irene." Dick makes a thoughtful face. "You know she's getting better about the brass knuckle-thing, right? The therapy really seems to be helping."

Fantastic. Tim feels so much better now. "I hate all of you," he says. "I hate you all so much, I can't even put it into words."

Dick grins, a blinding flash of perfect teeth and Tim also hates that just on principle. "Come on, I'll show you where the security camera blind spots are."

Tim squints at Dick, who is all friendly smiles and helpful eyebrows (that's an actual thing with Dick) and. "If we get caught I'm going to use you as a human shield." 

Tim's trained, of course. Barbara wouldn't let him be her sidekick without it, for good reason. (Gotham _alone_.) Still, it's Barbara and Dinah and Steph and Cass the rest of the Birds. Tim is _still_ trying to find the master copies Barbara made of his early training sessions with Dinah and the others. (The one with Steph and Cass in particular because he'd been wearing Barbara's old suit - God, why had he even agreed to that? - and he has a newfound respect for her or anyone else for being able to fight crime in heels.)

"We're not going to get caught," Dick says, grabbing Tim's arm. "Have a little faith, okay?"

It's like these people have never heard of jinxes or how they work.

********

"Mission accomplished," Tim says, fingering the torn sleeve of his coat. Next to him, Dick looks almost as bad (somehow, Dick makes being a little torn up look good). They're wet, cold, and the very picture of miserable, because it's winter, and winter in Gotham isn't complete without snow, and Tim hates everything just a little right now.

Barbara stares at them. Steph stares at them. Cass stares at them. _Everyone_ is staring at them.

"Irene," Dick says, glancing sidelong at Tim. "Also, Bruce had them beef up security." A thoughtful noise. "No brass knuckles were spotted, though."

"Oh, good," Steph says, sliding two mugs of hot chocolate over to them. "It's nice to know therapy's good for her." 

Tim lets go of his coat sleeve - irreparable - and wraps his hands around one of the mugs, revels in the warmth and the rich smell of it. Closes his eyes and sags, slouching down on his stool. 

One less horrible thing in a day of horrible things. 

"So," Barbara says. Casual, so, so casual.

The tone of her voice trips all the alarms in Tim's head, causing him to sit upright, eyes snapping open. "Barbara - "

"Now that you know how to get in, you're going to be fine making special deliveries on a daily basis, right?"

Tim. God, no. "I - "

"No brass knuckles!" Cass pipes up, like that's a good thing. 

It actually is, but that's not the point. The point is that Bruce has crazy people working for him (and for once Tim doesn't mean the ones who dress up like bats or birds at night). Doesn't Bruce know that nine times out of ten that kind of crazy results in a new costumed criminal terrorizing Gotham?

"Come on, Timmy," Dick says, ruffling Tim's hair. "It was a blast!"

Tim ducks out from Dick's hand, eyes narrowing. "A blast." 

Dick nods because of course he considers what happened to them a blast, of course he does. He jumps off buildings for a living, and also because he thinks the laws of gravity don't apply to him. Having to run away from the brass-knuckle loving Irene and her henchpeople had to have been up there with a day at Disneyland or taking down a drug ring. 

Tim looks to Barbara, no help there. Steph. Definitely no help considering the giant grin and barely controlled mirth. Cass. Cass has that look in her eye that says this will be good for Tim. That this will be a good way to get field experience in an environment where the chance for serious injury or death is at a respectable fifty percent. Dick is beaming, his stupid perfect teeth and _how is his hair still perfect?_ , and just as, if not _more_ , crazy than the others.

(God, what has Tim gotten himself into with these people?)

"I hate you all," Tim says, even though he means the exact opposite and they know it. "I hate you all so much, I can't even put it into words."


End file.
